Chapter Three: The Only Road I've Ever Known

[Kate Wilder]

Kate lay with the sleeping Millie in her arms, stroking her hair. The past couple hours were emotionally exhausting. She just wanted to fall asleep and wake up when Simon was gone. Then she could get on with her life. Eventually, reality would have to settle in and she’d need to deal with it, but for now, she’d take what moments of peace she could get.

That was when she heard the unmistakable sound of automatic weapons fire. She shot upright, waking her dazed daughter from her peaceful slumber, her heart pounding against her chest like a boxer at a speedbag.

“Mommy?” Millie said sleepily. “What’s that sound?”

Kate rushed to the window, her eyes going wide while her heart sank. Men were pouring lead into the garage like crazy, and she had no doubt Virgil and Simon were in there.
“Get down!” She ordered, rushing to Millie and wrapping her in her arms. The girl started crying in terror, begging for an explanation of what was happening as her mother gathered her up and got low with her. Kate covered the little girl’s head, formulating a plan. Her room. The Mare’s Leg. If they were getting out of there, they weren’t doing it unarmed.

“Baby. I need you to listen to me.” She said, taking Millie’s face in her hands and looking her in the eye. “We’re going into mommy’s room. I need you to follow me and do what I say.”

“What’s happening?!” Millie cried.

“Baby, please!” Kate said, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. “Follow me! Follow Mommy!”

She pulled the girl out into the hall overlooking the main floor. Below, the kitchen door kicked open and footsteps clomped on the floorboards, the firefight raging on outside. That was a minor Godsend. At least one of them was still alive. No time to dwell, she hustled her daughter into the room at the end of the hall, passing through the door just before they could be seen by whoever was downstairs. Kate reached up to the top shelf of a closet and pulled down the small shotgun and a box of shells.

Millie stared at her, wide-eyed as her mother loaded the weapon with shaking hands. Kate did everything she could to appear calm and collected, though she felt like she could just break at any moment. “Baby, I need you to get in this closet and hide. You stay here until Mommy or Pops comes and gets you, okay?” she said, in a whisper.

The kid was in full panic mode, tears streaming down her angelic little face but her attention snapped to her mother when she said forcefully through grit teeth. “Millie!”

Those big pretty eyes stared up at her mother as she brushed a thumb against her cheek. “You hear me?”

Millie nodded slowly and crawled into the closet. Kate smiled nervously to her. “Good girl.” That expression changed as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs cautiously. She pulled the lever, racking the weapon. Her breath came rapidly, her chest rising wildly despite her trying to control it. She was not a killer. She was not a fighter, even. But she WAS a mother. And God help the son of a bitch who came between this Momma Bear and her cub.

Those footsteps came closer. Closer. Closer. Kate shut her eyes and took in a deep breath, the world around her going away for just a moment. “Do what you have to do.” She told herself. Her eyes opened again and she wheeled around. It almost felt like an eternity as she took aim on the man upon the stairs. She recognized him. Lyle Marks. Those beady little eyes wide with surprise beneath that balding scalp. She’d never cared for him. And now, she hated him. With a squeeze of her finger, his chest was shredded by shotgun fire. The force of the blast took him off his feet and sent his mortally wounded body back off the stairs, knocking him into his older brother Emmett. The pair of them tumbling down the stairs in a mess of blood and flailing limbs.

Kate ran into the bathroom across the hall, flattening against the wall. The woman in the mirror was flecked with blood on her face and clothes. She had expected to feel relieved at the death, to feel the adrenaline pumping and readying her for more, but instead she just felt sick. A man was dead and she’d taken his life. She had to fight to keep herself from vomiting as she struggled to breathe normally. The footsteps came up the stairs, quicker this time.

Do something, Kate. DO something! Her mind shouted over and over again, willing her unresponsive body to open fire. Finally she readied to lean out, but a shotgun blast rang out from Emmett, tearing through the drywall beside her. With a shriek, she returned to the illusion of cover, crouching low.

The fat dullard was covered in his brother’s blood, running on pure rage and seeking vengeance. “C’mon! C’mon, you fuckin’ cunt! Come get what’s comin’ to ya!”

The next blast ripped through the wall right above her head. Katie flinched, suppressing her terror. She grit her teeth, taking in a deep breath and wheeled around for the kill. But he was waiting. Emmett gripped the weapon, forced to drop his own, and redirected the Mare’s Leg upward, her shot ripping into the ceiling, sending down drywall dust. Quickly, he threw a right cross, connecting with her cheek and ripped the gun from her hands. But he didn’t count on her just taking the punch and responding just as quick. She spun on him, wrapping her hands around his throat and squeezing with everything she had.

Emmett dropped the shotgun and , grabbing her wrists and trying to pull her hands from his neck. They wrestled for advantage, accidentally knocking the Mare’s Leg over the edge. He used his weight and height advantage and drove her back, slamming her into the wall, but she wouldn’t let go. His fist cocked back, ready to take her head off with one vicious punch. She saw it coming and just ducked, letting that doughy meathook slam through the drywall and into a stud with a crack. Emmett howled in pain and she saw her moment. Kate slammed her knee into his groin once, twice, and once more. Kicking off the wall, she plowed her shoulder into his chest, driving him back toward the railing.

Emmett stumbled backwards grabbing her and pulling her with him. The railing gave way, the pair of them falling to the living room below. He took the brunt of the landing, but even his beer gut didn’t shield her from the impact. Her body ached, but she wasn’t going to rest while he still drew breath. With a groan, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, scrambling immediately for the shotgun just out of reach. She’d almost reached it when he grabbed her leg and yanked her back.

Kate dropped off her elbows, her chin whacking against the wooden floor. Pain cut through her like lightning from the impact, her teeth slamming together hard enough that she thought they might have cracked. She took her free foot and kicked as hard as she could at his face, her boot heel catching him and snapping his head back with a yelp.

She was free for a moment, once again trying for the gun but those much stronger arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her away. He whipped her around like a rag doll, squeezing her so tight her ribs strained against his arms. Kate let out a scream, struggling against him. She managed to squirm around and try to claw at his face, forcing him to let go and defend himself from her attacks. Those big hands finally found purchase around her neck and gripped tight. Even as she beat at his face and chest, he squeezed. Tighter. Tighter. And slowly Kate felt the world begin to darken and start to go away.

[Simon Toews]

Gunfire continued outside, Virgil doing his damndest to hold them off. From the sounds of it, he was giving better than he was getting. Good, Simon thought. Take ‘em down, old man. He checked his weapon and surroundings, stepping forth.

Simon moved through the house slowly, his pistol raised and at the ready. The house was basically untouched. But he knew he wasn’t alone. Adrenaline continued to course through his veins as he rounded a corner. Lyle Marks lay dead on the ground in a pool of blood, the exit wound of a shotgun protruding from his back.

Well, he thought. One less to deal with. His eyes trailed further up and once again, his breath caught in his throat. Kate and another man were struggling a brutal fight in progress. The pair of them came crashing through the bannister, slamming onto the ground amongst its remains.

But the fight continued. Simon brought his weapon up, trying to get a good shot without hitting Kate as she struggled against him. As the redneck finally gained the upper hand, choking the life out of her, but giving him a clear shot.
“Hey, asshole!” Simon called out, the fat son of a bitch whipping his head toward him. With a squeeze of the trigger, the back of Emmett’s head burst in a spray of blood. His body falling to Kate’s side limp and lifeless.

Simon rushed to her side, as she coughed and sputtered, splattered in the man’s blood.

“Kate!” He called to her, trying to help. “Kate!”

“The fuck took you so long?” She said hoarsely, an exhausted smile on her face.


Simon grinned. “Ran into your ex and his buddies. Come on. We need to get moving.”

He tried to help her up as the door behind him burst open. One of the gunmen had made it past Virgil. Simon spun about-face, but the shot rang out before he could get his arm up to shoot. Searing pain bloomed as a poorly aimed bullet tore through the flesh of his arm, his body instinctively jerking to one side. His weapon clattering across the floor.

“SIMON!” Kate shrieked and scurried as quick as she could to cover, hiding behind an alcove at the front door.

Simon tried to right himself, but the gunman was charging forth, firing off rounds like a mad man. He barely dove out of the way in time as the bullets pocked against the wall in shower of dust and tiny debris. Simon hit the floor on his good shoulder, reaching to the small of his back for his backup weapon, but found nothing. It lay on the other side of the room, having fallen out when he was shot.

Simon cursed under his breath, scrambling up onto his feet and trying to get to his gun.

The gunman stalked toward Simon, weapon raised, a victorious sneer on his face. “Boy, you been more trouble than you’re fuckin’ worth.” He said. “But now, it’s time to put you down.

Before he could put that killing shot into Simon’s forehead, the clack of the Mare’s leg stole his attention. Kate lay on the ground, beat up, but a fire burning behind her eyes. The goon went to wheel around on her, but she pulled the trigger, the man’s head exploding, sending blood, bone and brain matter all over the living room like a grotesque Jackson Pollock.

[Hank Austin]

Millie watched as her mother disappeared out into the hallway, firing her gun and kicking the door closed behind her. And then she was alone. Her mother was gone, and outside there were just loud noises, like when Pops went “varmint huntin’”, as he called it. The look on her mother’s face and the tone of her voice told her this was decidedly NOT that. No, this sounded like more like a fireworks show or one of those old movies her Pops watched with the cowboys, but this was real. I was louder, scarier. The little girl just cowered in her closet as the loud bangs continued to ring out.

Who were these people, she wondered? Why had they come onto her Grandpa’s farm? Why did they want to hurt her family? She had no answers, no ideas. All she knew was that she was terrified and the sounds outside her door had stopped. The seconds seemed like hours to the frightened little girl as she dared to stand up from her hiding spot. Her small fist clenched the folded knife in her pocket, just in case, she thought.

Her Mama was out there somewhere, but the silence filled her with a sense of dread that her young mind simply couldn’t comprehend. Her feet felt like she was dragging and immense weight, every step a struggle as she reached out for the knob.

BANG! BANG!

Shots rang out downstairs, startling Millie and sending her stumbling back. She was so focused ahead that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her or the cool night air through her open window.

“Hey there, pretty girl.” the man’s voice made her jump, the small girl whipping around and backing into a dresser. He was tall...but of course everyone was tall to her. He was skinny...gaunt. And he had ugly, tired-looking eyes...he just looked...wrong.

Hank smiled those yellow teeth and crouched low. He held up a hand to her. “No no no...It’s okay. It’s alright. I’m a friend. My name is Hank. I’m here to get you to safety.” He did his best to smile comfortingly, but it just creeped her out. She did NOT trust this man.

He gestured for her to come to him. “Come on, sweetie. Come with me.”

Mille glared at him and shook her head slowly.

That smile faded. Hank was grinding his teeth those eyes taking on a sinister light. “Now, you listen here. You do what you’re told. You come with me. Now.”

Millie balled up her little fists, her face scrunching up like she was building herself up to something. Finally, the dam burst. “No!” She shouted, turning and trying to run. HELP! HEL-”

Hank moved quickly, grabbing her from behind and clapping his hand over her mouth. “Shut. The fuck. Up.” He snarled into her ear.

Millie struggled against his far superior strength, her screams muffled into his hand. It made it hard for her to breathe, panic filling every fiber of her being. Finally, she came up with a plan and bit down on his skin, hard enough that she tasted blood. Hank yelled in pain, his fingers digging into her face so hard it hurt.

“You rotten little cunt!” He squeezed her jaw, the little girl’s screams now free and loud. The door to the room burst open, Simon entering with his gun drawn, followed by Kate. The distraught mother broke down at the site of him with her baby.

Mille stared through tears as Hank backed them into the wall. “Mommy!”

“Shut up.” Hank growled his hand going around her throat. “Put the gun down or I snap this little bitch’s neck!”

Kate was fighting the urge to sob. “Please! No! Baby, it’s okay, Mommy’s here. It’s gonna be okay.”

Simon kept his eyes locked on the thin man, weapon still trained and ready. It just seemed to make Hank more agitated. “You think I’m fuckin’ around ass hole? Drop the fuckin’ gun!”

“You hurt her, there ain’t gonna be nothin’ left of you to bury.” Simon threatened.

“Simon!” Kate pleaded with him. “Please…”

Simon glanced her way, his jaw clenching before he hesitantly began to lower the weapon. He locked eyes with Millie. “Don’t hurt her. Just don’t hurt her.”

"Shut the fuck up! Lower your weapon!" Hank shouted.

"Millie...don't be afraid. Okay? It's gonna be okay. Just breathe." Simon tried to calm her.

The little girl was still horrified and crying, but she nodded. Simon looked her in the eye. "No lost fingers."

A look crossed the little girl’s face, like she just realized something. Her hand drifted down, subtly to her pocket, glancing back at him to make sure he didn’t see. Hank was focused ahead, but Simon caught it. Atta girl, he thought..

“Throw it in the hall.” Hank ordered. “Do it!”

Simon held up one hand, keeping the tweaked out little man focused on himself as he tossed the weapon outside the door, giving Millie a nod. Her hand yanked out the butterfly knife he’d given her, and in one, smooth, practiced motion, the flipped out the blade and the buried it into Hank’s thigh as far as it would go. He let out an ear-splitting scream, his grip loosening enough for her to break free.

Simon was already charging at Hank as Mille was swept up into her Mama’s arms and carried out of the room. His shoulder caught the assassin’s stomach, crashing through the doors of the closet and pulling down the hanger rod and all the clothes inside. Simon’s fist hammered his ribs again and again and again.

The blows just seemed to make the skinny man angrier. He grabbed Simon by the hair and yanked his head back, driving his fist right into Simon’s throat. The tatted fighter clutched his neck, gasping for air as Hank struggled to this feet. Whatever he was on, he barely seemed to notice the blade in his thigh. Again, his fingers wrapped in SImon’s hair before he threw a knee into the man’s face.

Hank stood over him as Simon sprawled across the floor, a slight limp as even the drugs failed to numb all the pain. A hand came down yanking Simon backward and up onto his knees, but the fighter was quick. Using the momentum, he elbowed Hank as hard as he could in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him until he could get to his feet.

The two of them faced off, SImon’s fists raised while blood ran down one side of his face. He could hear his breath leaving him in a raspy wheeze. That gaunt lowlife glared with those dilated, bloodshot eyes, daring him to make the first move.

Simon threw the first punch, but Hank moved aside, moving backwards out of his reach. Then, the next. Simon had to give it to the stranger, he was fast. When the tatted fighter followed through on the next punch, Hank, side-stepped quickly and grabbed a shirt from the bed behind him. When Simon went to hit him again, he ducked under the blow and managed to get the article of clothing wrapped around his neck. Simon gasped desperately for air, his gnarled hands trying to pry the fabric from his throat.

“Just. Fucking. DIE” Hank snarled, his knuckles white, gripping as tight as he possibly could.

There were pops in his vision. Simon HAD to get out soon. He grabbed around for anything he could use, until it suddenly occurred to him. He reached back and grabbed the knife, ripping it out of Hank’s leg. The assassin let out an agonized scream, his grip loosening.

Simon fell forth, gasping for air. The second he could move without coughing, he slashed wildly behind him, completely missing his target. Simon scrambled madly up to his feet, ready to go.

Simon wasted not a moment, slashing away at the dodging man, moving him back further and further toward the doorway. The drugged out killer kept his eyes on the knife and watched as Simon went to bring it down in a stabbing motion. Hank caught him by the wrist with both hands...just as he wanted. Hank threw a knee into Simon’s groin and another. His shoulder planted and gave the tatted fighter a hard shove.

Simon stumbled backwards toward the stairs, and before he could do anything a boot caught him square in the chest. The kick was so hard, he sailed over the first couple steps, but the rest, he felt every bit of as fell down to the ground floor, slamming into the wall at the bottom. For the moment, it all went black.

Hank's boots thumped out of sync, the bleeding wound on his leg causing a limp. Before, killing the girl was an unpleasant aspect of a job. But now? That little bitch stabbed him. Oh, now it was about so much more. He was going to enjoy this.

He could hear them whimpering in the next room, Kate’s Mares Leg clenched tight in his hands. He’d kill them with the very thing meant to protect.them. Hank kinda enjoyed the poetic justice of the idea.

Kate was in there trying shush the kid. As if it would matter. He wasn’t deaf. And neither were they. They had to hear him. Let that step-thump, step-thump, step-thump be the sound of their approaching end. Let them feel every second of terror, knowing there was nothing they could do. Let them die hopeless.

He rounded the doorway, relishing every moment, a smile on his bloodied face as he saw them. Kate stood before the closet like a goalie, a baseball bat clutched in her hands. She looked like a wild animal, her eyes wide and feral. Even in that state, bloodied and frenzied, she was a looker, Hank thought. It would be a shame that nobody would be able recognize her face when he was done with her.

“Well, well, well. Hi there, Katie Mae.” He sneered through blood stained teeth. “Been a while.”

She held that bat out like a knight with a sword. “You stay away from my baby, you sick fuck!”

Hank tisked and waved a finger. “Oooh…mommy, such bad language...”

“I said get AWAY!” Kate shrieked, swinging wild at him. Hank leaned out of the bat’s path and pivoted, slamming the stock of the Mare’s Leg right into her stomach. Kate let out a breathless, pained grunt and dropped to her knees.

Hank looked down at the agonized mother with pitiless eyes. She glared up at him...defiant to the end.

“Say goodbye, Mommy.”

Kate spat at him. “Go fuck yourself.” She snarled.

Hank smirked and nodded. He respected her. Going out like a champ. He racked the lever of the shotgun and rose the barrel to her forehead.

[Simon Toews]

Simon woke from the blackness, his head aching, neck bruised and his body battered from the tumble down the stairs. Drywall dust coated his skin from where his head had bashed through the wall. His body aches as he struggled back up to his feet.

Voices filtered from upstairs. That redneck prick was in the room with them.

No.

He pulled himself up the stairs, leaning against the wall to support himself as he made his way to the doorway.

Hank was standing over Kate. The barrel of a shotgun was pressed to her head.

“Say goodbye, Mommy.” He said

Simon didn’t hear her response or see her spit at him. He lunged off the doorway, grabbing him from behind. The shotgun aimed up at the ceiling, Hank accidentally firing a shot up into the attic.

Kate pushed up onto her feet and grabbed for the the weapon, trying to wrench it from his hands. Hank managed to slam the heel of his boot into her chest, putting her into the wall and sent Simon and himself stumbling into the other side of the room.

They hit with a grunt, bumping into an ironing board. Hank threw a few elbows back into his attacker’s ribs. One arm still wrapped around him, Simon reached out, fumbling around for something to use as a weapon.

As yet another blow landed at his torso, Simon’s fingers wrapped around the iron. With a vicious swing, he brought the iron down onto the back of Hank’s head.

The shotgun clattered to the ground as Hank collapsed to his knees, blood trickling down the back of his head. He looked back at Simon in a daze, only to catch another crack to the face, knocking him onto his back.

Simon only saw red. The world around him was only vaguely there. He straddled Hank, the skinny assassin reaching weakly up to defend himself. But Simon knocked his hand aside, bringing the iron down with all his strength. Again and again he hit him in the face. He hit him until skin tore. Until bone fractured. Until it shattered. Again and again and again like a man possessed. Simon hit him until Millie’s horrified shriek brought him back to reality to realize there was only a gory hole that had once been a man’s face. Blood pooled on the floor, coating his skin and turned his clothes red.

Kate stared in wide-eyed shock at the man who had once seemed so gentle and kind, now a bloody monstrous killer. She saw him for the first time as he saw himself. And with Millie it was worse. She was scared of him. Well and truly scared.

“Millie..” He panted and held a hand out to her. The girl screamed and ran out into a room at the end of the hall, slamming the door behind her, leaving Simon defeated.

Kate reached out with trembling hands and grabbed the shotgun. For a moment, he thought she would turn it on him. Instead, she racked the lever. Her sights were elsewhere.

“Keep her in there.” She ordered him. The raging mother brushed past him and headed downstairs.

Everything was in shambles, Simon thought. Whatever good he’d found here had just been erased.

[Virgil Marston]

Virgil reached down to reload his shotgun, but the pile of ammo was spent. The return fire had ceased, but he knew he was not alone. The old man dropped his weapon to the ground and stepped outside. He could hear all manner of commotion from inside the house. Katie and Millie were in trouble and that didn’t speak well for Simon. But he couldn’t focus on that just now. He had to have faith that the kid would see it through. For now, he had other business to deal with.

He stepped out into the driveway between the house and barn, the cool night breeze hitting the old man’s skin. That was when he heard it. The hammer of the dead man’s gun being pulled.

Virgil froze where he stood. Slowly, cast his gaze to his left. Wyatt stood there, pistol pointed his way. The boy had gone a bit grey in the past few years, he noticed. His skin a sickly, pallid white, like a man who had seen a ghost.

“Son.” Virgil managed hoarsely.

Wyatt swallowed hard, his voice shaking with something that wasn’t exactly bravado. “You should have stayed in the barn.”

“Might have a point there, kid.” Virgil turned to face his boy, arms spread to show he was unarmed.

“Turn around.” Wyatt ordered him.

Virgil shook his head slowly. “No, kid. You don’t get off that easy.” He said. “You gonna kill me, you’re gonna look me in the eye.”

“You think I won’t?” Wyatt blustered, taking a step forward.

“I go out on my own terms, kid. It’s all a man can do.” Virgil stood his ground, watching the boy he’d raised pointing a firearm at him, his heart aching enough he thought it might kill him before Wyatt could even pull that trigger. “So, you do what you gotta do.”

“You should’a told me. ‘Bout Katie. Maybe we coulda worked it out. But no. No, we end up fuckin’ here in the middle of nowhere! Is this better?” Wyatt asked, trembling. “Dying here, in this shithole?”

Virgil stared at his son, eyes lowering as he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt.” He said. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“Shut up.” Wyatt snarled.

“I tried, kid. I really did. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.” Virgil stared into his eyes, tears welling in his own.

“I said shut up!” Wyatt shouted. “You took her from me! You took everything! Katie...my daughter!”

The old man shook his head. “She was scared a’ you. Scared a’ this.” Virgil explained, gesturing his way. “Look at yourself, Wyatt!”

Wyatt wanted to say something, but the words never came. Virgil could see tears rolling down his son’s eyes.

“Son. This ain’t you.” He whispered.

“Yes it is.” Wyatt insisted half-heartedly. Virgil could hear and see the conflict raging inside of him, the doubt that filled his voice.

“You’re better ‘n this.”

“Shut the fuck up! I ain’t lettin’ you fuck with me!” Wyatt shouted.

Virgil kept still, steady. “You don’t have to do this.”

Wyatt’s chest heaved with confused, nervous breaths. He said nothing just trying not to break.

“Put down that gun, son. We can make this right.”

His son’s breath quivered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It’s too late.” He whispered with a shake of his head.

“No it ain’t.” Virgil dared take a step forward. “It’s never too late. You done some bad things, but it ain’t too late to make it right. Don’t let that sumbitch make you like him. You ain’t! You’re my son. You don’t have to be his lackey anymore.”

Wyatt pointed the gun half heartedly. “Stop.” He said meekly.

Virgil reached out. “Just give me the gun, son. We’ll end this together. Me and you. Come on, kid.”

Virgil’s fingers were nearly to the pistol. Wyatt simply couldn’t pull that trigger. Not again.

“Dad…” he whispered.

Virgil’s fingers gently wrapped around the weapon, and Wyatt finally let go. Virgil pulled the weapon from his hand and took his son in his arms. Wyatt gripped the old man tight, holding on like he might float away if he let go. All the pain and anguish from over the years poured out of him as he clung to his father.

“It’s alright, boy. It’s alright.” Virgil soothed his son.

Wyatt pulled back finally, seeing his father for who he was for the first time in a long, long time. The love in the old man’s eyes transcending every awful thing he’d done.

And then, the shot rang out.

[Wyatt Marston]

Wyatt was not prepared. Virgil lurched forward into his arms, a chilling grunt escaping from deep within him. For a moment, Wyatt didn’t process what had just happened. And then he saw. Callum lowered his rifle, smoke still emanating for the barrel. His father wheezed, shock, pain, confusion on his face. As his legs began to fail him, Virgil reached up, fingers brushing his only child’s cheek.

“Wyatt…” He exhaled before completely collapsing. It took most the younger man’s strength not to drop him. Carefully, he let down his father, laying him back.

“Dad...I’m here. I’m here, Dad.” He whispered, grasping his hand. Virgil took hold as hard as he could, eyes boring into his son’s as he gasped his last breath.

“I...I...I love…”

For a moment Virgil’s eyes seemed distant...and then he was gone. Wyatt stared down in shock. He’d done this. He hadn’t pulled the trigger but were it not for him Virgil Marston would be alive. His head dropped, eyes upon the Dead Man’s Gun still clutched in his hand.

Callum’s boots clomped through the grass and dirt. Callum who had stolen from him his redemption. Had taken his true family right when he should have gotten it back.

The scar faced old man glared down at him.

“Fuckin’ coward.” He spat out.

Wyatt’s blood boiled, the world going away. The accumulated pain and betrayal of the years spent following this false messiah finally coming to a head. He rose, his father’s gun in hand. Those bloodshot eyes locked on Callum.

“What?” Callum sneered. “‘Fuck’s your problem?”

Without a word, Wyatt brought the weapon up and pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped through Marks’ left eye and blew out the back of his head. Callum’s one good eye registered surprise, his body staggering back as if it weren’t just rendered lifeless. His mouth opened but nothing came out but a rattling noise from deep within his throat. His arm rose shakily, trying to bring his weapon to bear on Wyatt. Finally, he fell dead with a thud, lying in the dirt with a puddle of red gaining purchase upon the dirt beneath his head.

Wyatt had two fathers in life. Both of them had met their end because of him, and only one of them did he regret. He returned to Virgil and knelt over him, reaching out and sliding his eyes shut gently.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

He froze where he crouched. He knew whose boots were striding across the gravel before he even saw her. He knew what it looked like. Knew what she was thinking. He could say something, yes. He might even get to walk away, yet again. But sooner or later...everyone gets what they deserve.

He turned to face her, the bloodied, revenge-fueled mother’s eyes telling him everything she needed to know. He’d sent them after her baby. Killed the only man in her life who had never let her down.

Everyone, no matter the man, gets what he deserves.

The shotgun blast hit him square in the chest, sending Wyatt sprawling onto his back, hitting him like a Mack truck. He lay there gasping and staring up at the stars. For a moment, he could remember being with his father, making up their own star constellations and stories behind them. He could almost hear the old man laughing. Smell the familiar scent of tobacco and aftershave that were almost constant upon him, growing up. Wyatt turned his head, gazing at Virgil in his last moments. He reached out with a shaky hand, and took his father’s, clinging tight as the light finally left his eyes.

Wyatt and Virgil lay side-by-side, clutched hand in hand. Gone forever.

[Simon Toews]

The sun rose over farm the next morning. Simon, showered, bandaged and in fresh clothes, shoveled the last load of dirt upon Virgil’s grave. He was buried at the foot of the prairie on his own property. It seemed appropriate. Wyatt, however, lay in a mass grave out in the prairie with Callum Marks and his friends, never having even laid eyes upon his daughter.

Toews wiped the sweat from his brow, his last hard day’s work on the farm. The entire time, he couldn’t get the sound of Millie’s horrified shriek from his mind. The monster inside of him had gotten loose and the redneck Kate identified as “Hank”, had taken the full brunt of its rage. But afterwards, the girl wouldn’t speak to him. Wouldn’t so much as look at him. He’d changed in her eyes, and it ate him up inside. What she’d seen, she would carry with her for the rest of her life, and it was his fault for not keeping control.

While he worked, Kate packed. The farm was no longer their home. It was just the place where Virgil had died and bad men had tried to kill Millie and her mama. Where a good man had turned into something that would haunt the girl’s dreams for years to come.

Simon hammered a cross into the ground over Virgil’s grave and finally stepped back, giving the old cowboy a moment of silence. Simon wasn’t a praying man, but for Virgil, he could at least give him that.

Kate stepped up beside him, bruised, scraped and a butterfly bandage adorning her left eyebrow. She watched Virgil’s grave in silence standing beside Simon. She reached out and took his hand, clasping it tight as she said a little prayer for Virgil...and one for Simon.

After a moment, she released his hand, the pair of them ambling toward the house. “She alright?” Simon asked.

Kate eyed the gravel, giving a rock a little kick as she did. “I think she will be. Eventually.” She glanced at him with a weak little smile. “What about you?”

Simon smirked bitterly, hand stuffed into his pockets. “I always am.”

She gazed at him doubtfully. “I don’t think that’s true.”

His smirk faded, his eyes lowering just slightly. “You might be right.”

“What are you gonna do?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know. Get back into town. Spend a few days in bed with a beautiful blonde I got waiting for me back home.” He grinned. “Just see where life takes me.”

A knowing little smirk crossed Kate’s lips. “Maybe go see a doctor before you go hopping into bed. Don’t want to break a hip.”

Simon chuckled. “Yeah, might have to do that. What about you?”

Kate glanced over. “Me?”

“Yeah. What’s next?”

Kate stopped in her tracks and looked out over the farm that had been her hiding spot for 8 years. She gave up everything to eek out a life spent in fear of even a single misstep. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she realized what this all meant. Wyatt was gone. Callum was gone.

“I’m going home.” She said, turning to Simon. Kate Wilder stood a little taller in that moment, a weight lifted from her shoulders.

The tatted fighter smiled brightly to her. He took in the image of her in that moment, a proud, strong, confident...and most of all...free woman about to embark on a new path, a new life. For now, the guilt faded.

The pair of them glanced to the truck where Millie sat. Kate glanced at him and opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. Simon knew. He knew she didn’t want to see him or say goodbye. He even understood why.

Her smile was fleeting, replaced with concern and bit of sadness. The pair just stood there and stared, neither daring to speak. Kate reached up and carefully wrapped her arms around him, embracing him tightly, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Thank you.” She whispered. “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t.” He responded. “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me. Virgil would still be alive.”

“Or we’d all be dead.” She corrected him. “You saved us. We get a second chance. That’s on you, Simon.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that, but he didn’t argue.

“Sooner or later...you’re gonna have to forgive yourself.” She said, pulling back. “You deserve to.”

Simon forced a smile and nodded. “You just take care of that girl.”

“With all my life.” she assured him. “Goodbye, Simon Toews.”

“Goodbye, Kate Wilder.” He responded warmly.

She leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “And Simon….”

“Yeah?”

“Be good.”

Simon watched as she released him and walked over to the truck, climbing inside with her daughter. She pulled down a pair of aviators from the visor and slid them on, a blissful little grin on her lips as she turned on the engine. Kate took Millie under one arm and kissed the top of her head. She put the truck into gear and head on out of his life for good.

Simon smiled to himself, walking over to his bullet-ridden car. It still ran perfectly, it just wasn’t pretty. It suited him, he decided. The battered fighter climbed into the driver’s seat and fired the old Charger up. With his last moment on the farm, he turned and looked out to Virgil’s grave, silently said goodbye, leaving the farm, the death, and a part of himself he’d carried for years behind. He didn’t know where the road would take him, or what fate had in store. But he would meet it nonetheless.

The makeshift cross stood strong as the wind blew across the prairie lands, Virgil in his home, and Wyatt much like in life, on the outskirts, his father just out of reach until the Prairie eventually reclaimed them both.

Simon threw the car into gear and drove off, leaving behind a trail of dust in the afternoon sun.

Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
Where the coyotes wail and the wind blows free
And when I die, don't bury me
'neath the Western sky on the lone prairie

Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
These words came soft and painfully
From the pallid lips of a youth who lay
On his dying bed at the break of day

But we buried him there, on the lone prairie
Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free
In a shallow grave, no one to grieve
'neath the Western sky on the lone prairie

Oh bury me not on the lone prairie
These words came soft and painfully
From the pallid lips of a youth who lay
On his dying bed at the break of day
On his dying bed at the break of day